


what my rotting bones will sing

by CreatePeaceFromChaos



Series: Glitter & Gold [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Heartache, Heartbreak, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26160898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatePeaceFromChaos/pseuds/CreatePeaceFromChaos
Summary: Months after leaving Geralt behind for good, Yennefer encountered an all-too-familiar bard. A bard who, she realised, has suffered much the same as she had at the hands of the White Wolf. There was also something…oddabout the bard, something that had changed (or perhaps was just hidden before), and Yennefer wasintrigued.After having his heart broken and reluctantly leaving the Witcher he loved, Jaskier threw himself into his music and magic in the hopes that he could coax his shattered heart into mending itself - before the agony of being so thoroughly destroyed could kill him.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Glitter & Gold [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871959
Comments: 2
Kudos: 109





	what my rotting bones will sing

**Author's Note:**

> For the square "Friends to Lovers/Friends with Benefits" for Glitter & Gold bingo.
> 
> Title from "Fair" by The Amazing Devil. The entire fic was inspired by that whole song, ngl.

When she heard the familiar tenor of the bard’s voice, unaccompanied by his lute for once, she almost turned and left despite needing to curry favour with the lord of the land. A moment later, though, she noticed the honest _melancholy_ within that familiar voice, and common sense reasserted itself. Even if the bard was here, that didn’t mean Geralt was. Just because she saw them together more often than not, didn’t mean they spent all their time together. She _knew_ that.

What she _didn’t_ know was why the bard sounded moments from breaking down weeping. And _that_ caught her curiosity. She had realised, a few days after she’d stormed off after the dragon hunt, that Geralt had been doing his usual self-sacrificial bullshit and had _intended_ for her to leave. She’d thought, though, that he wouldn’t have done the same with the bard. Or that if he’d tried, the human’s stubborn nature wouldn’t allow it to work.

So why was Jaskier here, presumably alone, singing like his heart was breaking?

Then the _words_ registered, and Yennefer was unable to stop herself from sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.

_“You turn to me then turn from me_

_Tear out the very heart of me_

_And after all these years o_ _f silence_

_You give voice to my fears a_ _nd I break_

_And I wish_

_And I long_

_For you to ask for me to stay_

_Oh gods how I wish you'd ask me t_ _o stay…”_

 _What_ had Geralt _done_ to the man? None of Jaskier’s songs had ever sounded this way, not even the one she’d briefly heard – sung by a much more inferior bard – which she had just _known_ was directed at her tumultuous relationship with Geralt. This one, low and resonating right down to Yennefer’s bones, was not like the other, even though the other had also been enough to wrench her heart when she stopped and actually listened to the lyrics. This one was so full of heartbreak and loss that she found tears coming to her eyes, especially when the final note wavered but lingered in the air. She could see various noble ladies dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs, and many of the men looked as if they’d been gutted.

Gentle applause filled the room, and Yennefer spied Jaskier dropping into a sweeping, flamboyant bow. His smile, she noted, was tremulous and fake, and there was… something _strange_ about him. Perhaps his eyes, perhaps the lines of his face, but whatever it was, Yennefer couldn’t quite place her finger on it. He was just… _different._

Jaskier straightened and swung his lute around from his back into his hands, and strummed a chord that sounded much more upbeat than his mournful unaccompanied melody from minutes earlier. His voice was not quite as jaunty as a jig such as the one he was now playing would usually call for, but as the mood within the room shifted with the music, Yennefer was certain she was the only one to notice.

She would find him later, would find out what had happened – she didn’t _care_ about him, not really, but she knew Geralt loved him and wanted to find out exactly what had happened after she had left them on the mountainside. For the moment, she needed to see the lord and slip into his good graces.

Even as she set herself to her self-assigned task, though, a question lingered in the back of her mind.

_What had Geralt done to his bard?_

Jaskier didn’t know when Yennefer of Vengerberg had arrived, but he first spied her not long after his second rendition – by request – of The Fishmonger’s Daughter. He almost fumbled a chord, but managed to transition it into a complex scale and then change key to continue playing without singing. He wandered the hall as he played, smiling and winking at those who seemed receptive, but kept a fraction of his attention on Yennefer the entire time. She hadn’t seemed to notice him, but he knew better than to believe that.

Why was she here? Of all places to meet someone from his decades by Geralt’s side, it had to be here in his cousin’s court. Of all _people_ from that time to meet, it had to be her.

She was still as lovely as always, and Jaskier’s shattered heart ached. He had thought they were becoming friends, before the dragon hunt, even though they had still snapped and snarled at each other. Seeing her reminded him all too clearly of Geralt, of the years spent at the Witcher’s side before the man had abruptly and utterly broken Jaskier’s heart. It was taking everything in him to keep himself from simply scattering to the winds and leaving nothing behind but his bones.

He didn’t want to die, though. He loved this world, even though it had caused him pain and heartache and he had suffered alongside the mortals and not-quite-mortals for decades. It was only his desire to remain tethered to the mortal plane that allowed him to keep himself alive.

Seeing Yennefer hurt, but only because she reminded him of Geralt. Because he’d been falling in love with her just as thoroughly as he’d already loved – still loved – Geralt, and she had left and then Geralt had all but torn Jaskier’s heart from his chest and—

No, he couldn’t think of that now. Not without letting his feelings be known to all and sundry.

He had to put on a brave front for now, and once tonight’s party was over he would be able to vanish back to his rooms and break down. He just had to last a little longer… and try to avoid Yennefer of Vengerberg in the process.

She watched everyone, at the end of the night, as various noble guests retired to their rooms in Viscount de Lettenhove’s small castle. She had kept Jaskier in her sights at all times, especially when he was not playing, and so when she saw him slip away she made her excuses to the Viscount and followed. It took only a small, simple spell to mask her from others, and she was able to follow Jaskier unnoticed by both him and the rest of the castle’s inhabitants.

His rooms were far more opulent and lived-in than she expected, but what surprised her further was how he stiffened when she stepped into the room behind him. He turned, and his inhumanly bright blue eyes met hers without any regard for her spell.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” he said, voice trembling ever so faintly. It wasn’t fear, though, or even anger – either of which she would have expected – but exhaustion and pain. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

That otherness she’d noticed around him was stronger now, and she allowed her spell to fade as she regarded him curiously. He seemed to be cradled in a magic similar to Chaos but not quite the same, and it was unlike anything she had encountered before. Her new interest in this apparently-not-human bard only grew.

“Can I not visit an old friend?” she asked glibly, and Jaskier snorted. The tension in his shoulders eased instead of increasing, and as she watched he seemed to almost collapse in on himself. Her previous concern returned and redoubled. “What did he do to you, Jaskier?” she murmured, taking a step closer, and Jaskier heaved a shaking sigh and waved a faintly-trembling hand.

“Told me exactly what he thought of me after over twenty years of what I thought was friendship,” he replied, sounding utterly defeated. Yennefer’s eyebrows rose – he didn’t look a day over twenty-five, so that was another mark for ‘not quite human’ – and she ran her gaze over him once more. He looked… thin, somehow, almost like he was wasting away despite there not being any difference in his physical proportions. “Apparently I was nothing more than the source of all ill in his life since I first started travelling with him. I believed us to be friends, possibly more, and he saw me only as an annoyance.” His voice wasn’t bitter, but tired, and Yennefer was… _worried_. He had never shown tiredness around her before, not in the decade or more that she’d known him. To see his light diminished in such a way… she wanted to hunt Geralt down and strangle him. How strange, she thought, for her to be so protective of the bard whom she had thought she hated.

“He begged me to save you, when we first met,” she said, taking a careful step closer. Jaskier didn’t flinch, didn’t back away, and so she took another step – and another, and another, until she was standing right in front of him. “He promised me anything if I would save you. That doesn’t exactly sound like the actions of a man who considers you an annoyance.” Jaskier barked out a bitter laugh, and Yennefer placed a hand on his cheek. He fell silent instantly, staring at her with wide blue eyes, and then his expression crumpled and he shut his eyes, releasing his breath in a shuddering sigh as he leaned into her touch.

The softness of the moment should have had her retreating, lashing out with her words, but there was something about Jaskier in that moment that instead had her staying right where she was.

“He broke your heart,” she whispered, and Jaskier flinched but didn’t move away. “He pushed me away and he broke your heart to chase you off.” Jaskier’s eyes opened, looking aged and lost and so very, very hurt, and Yennefer carefully drew him into her arms, guiding his head down onto her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her waist, somehow both achingly tight yet barely there, and Yennefer stroked her hand through his thick dark hair as her other arm wound around his broad shoulders to hold him close.

And Jaskier wept softly into her shoulder, shuddering in her arms.

When he woke, it was to find the nearly nude body of a very familiar sorceress in his arms, one of her own wrapped around his shoulders and her hand stroking his hair where his head rested upon her breast. His head and heart ached, but not quite so badly as the night before. His eyes were slightly sore, like they always were after he cried, and he spent a moment just breathing and attempting to regain his composure. He still felt like he was about to shatter into pieces, but Yennefer’s arms around him were grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.

“What are your plans from here?” Yennefer asked in a murmur, and Jaskier sighed and curled into her embrace just that little bit more.

“I hadn’t made any,” he admitted. “I was fully expecting to spend the rest of my days here.”

Yennefer was silent for a long moment, and Jaskier gasped when her arms tightened almost harshly around him, her perfect nails digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t you dare end yourself over him,” she whispered fiercely, and Jaskier shifted to look at her. Her violet eyes were blazing, and Jaskier wondered to himself at her sudden protectiveness.

He should correct her assumption, though. He wasn’t going to let his mostly-mortal existence end so easily.

“I don’t intend to die, Yennefer, but true heartbreak is difficult to overcome.” Yennefer scowled, opened her mouth to speak, but Jaskier interrupted her before she could. “I’m not human, Yen, surely you’ve noticed that by now.”

“Only last night,” Yennefer said with a sigh, and Jaskier gave a sigh of his own. Her grip had loosened on him slightly, and he shifted to rest his head on her shoulder once more.

“Mortal tongues cannot speak the name of what I am, but those of us who spend time in mortal forms can ‘die’ and be forced to leave this world if we suffer a crippling emotional blow,” he explained quietly. “I am doing my best to hold myself together, but it is difficult.”

Yennefer was silent once more, but it was a thoughtful silence. Her hand returned to his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp as she carded her fingers through his locks.

“Do not let yourself waste away over his self-sacrificial bullshit,” she ordered finally, startling a laugh from Jaskier. “I will remain with you until you recover or succumb.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you staying? Why do you care? I thought you hated me,” Jaskier admitted. He’d grown fond of her, had begun to love her, but she had never showed anything but annoyance or reluctant amusement at his presence.

“I did at first, but you have a tendency to grow on people. Like fungus.” Yennefer’s tone was incredibly dry, and Jaskier could not hold back another short laugh. “I will deny it should anyone ask, but I would miss your presence.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Jaskier promised with another small laugh, and for the first time in months he felt like he could _breathe_.

***

Days passed, then weeks, and the more time Yennefer spent with Jaskier – who, it turned out, was cousin to the Viscount and so had put in a good word for her – the more she saw his old self returning. He was still fragile, but steadily recovering, and Yennefer wasn’t at all surprised when, three weeks after that first night, he placed a light, hesitant kiss upon her shoulder where they curled together in his bed. She held him that little bit closer and pressed her lips to his forehead, and he released a shuddering sigh before his body relaxed entirely.

From there, they became closer. Jaskier started composing again, and Yennefer felt calmer in his presence than she had anywhere else in her entire life. There was an agelessness to him that he was no longer hiding, a patience that he’d never displayed before the dragon hunt… a sense of ancient knowledge that he did not suppress in her presence.

Weeks passed, turning into months, and as the first snows began to fall, Yennefer realised she had fallen in love with the not-so-human bard.

And it was… easy. It was so, so easy to love him, to be with him and to _rest_ in his presence.

“I can undo the bond the djinn forced between you,” Jaskier said quietly one night, as he gently plucked at the strings of his lute – composing, again, this time something sweeter and lighter than the last most recent song of his she’d heard. “It will be… painful, for you, because you will be the focus of the undoing, but I can do it. If you choose.”

Yennefer appraised him for a long moment, and then leaned across the space between them and brushed a feather-light kiss across his cheek and lips.

“I will consider it,” she murmured, and Jaskier smiled tenderly. There was pain and a knowingness in his gaze, but he did not push the matter. Instead he continued softly playing the melody that had been slowly coming together over the past few nights, and Yennefer settled behind him to press her head between his shoulders, her arms looped around his waist. She breathed with him, and smiled when he started to hum softly.

Soon after the first snows hit, Ferrant called Jaskier to his office, and he went easily. Everything had been easier since Yennefer had arrived, had wrapped herself around him and refused to let him fall apart, and Ferrant knew it. He’d been worried, Jaskier knew, but had been unable to ground Jaskier enough on his own.

“A pair of travellers arrived late last night,” Ferrant began, looking far more serious than Jaskier had seen him since Yennefer’s appearance had proven to have a positive effect on Jaskier’s wellbeing. “A young girl, and a Witcher.”

Jaskier froze. His vision blurred, and all he could hear was Geralt’s voice after the dragon hunt – the words echoing through his mind.

_“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”_

“Jaskier!” Warm, familiar hands cradled his cheeks, and Jaskier blinked away his tears – when had he started crying? – to see Yennefer standing in front of him, worry etched into every line of her body and making her violet eyes shimmer. He swallowed.

“Yen,” he managed to whisper, and she shut her eyes for a brief moment – relief, he thought idly – before pressing her mouth to his gently.

“Stay with me, Jaskier,” she whispered against his lips, her hands still on his cheeks, and he lifted his hands to cup her elbows.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised – and indeed, he didn’t feel like he was about to shatter into pieces. He felt a little weak, almost ghostly, but he was also very solidly grounded by Yennefer’s touch and presence.

“My apologies, cousin,” Ferrant said quietly, and Jaskier turned his head just enough to see his cousin. Ferrant didn’t react in the slightest when Yennefer slipped into Jaskier’s lap, instead continuing his apology. “I did not realise my words would distress you so.”

“Forgiven, Ferrant,” Jaskier replied, wrapping his arms around the sorceress keeping him tethered to the mortal world. “Is it him?”

“Yes.” The reply was simple, and yet it still shook Jaskier to his core. He shut his eyes and pressed his face into Yennefer’s shoulder, and she held him close.

“We will keep to ourselves while he is here,” she said firmly. Ferrant didn’t reply verbally, but he assumed his cousin nodded. “Good. Do let us know when he is gone.” She stood, one hand grasping Jaskier’s firmly, and he stood when she tugged lightly.

“I am sorry, Jaskier,” Ferrant said again, and Jaskier took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, slightly shaky still, and then offered a faint smile to his cousin.

“Your apology is accepted, cousin.” He paused, bit his lip, and then added, “make sure he has what he needs before he goes?”

“If you wish,” Ferrant agreed, and Jaskier nodded firmly. “Then I will see it done.”

Yennefer forced an end to the conversation by pulling Jaskier through a portal to their rooms, and as it closed behind them, Jaskier all but collapsed into her arms.

She held him tight and close, whispering words of love into his hair.

She was absolutely _furious_ at the world for allowing Geralt to somehow end up in the same castle as her and Jaskier, but she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at Geralt himself. Her time with Jaskier had soothed much of her rage at Geralt for his djinn wish, but she was still incredibly disappointed in him for having thoroughly _broken_ his faithful bard. And, reluctant as she was to admit it even to herself, she still loved the bastard.

It was that mix of emotions which had her venturing out of the rooms she shared with Jaskier, seeking out the Witcher who had bound their fates together and so definitively broken Jaskier’s heart. Jaskier knew she was going to confront the Witcher, but had admitted to her that he was unable to bring himself to accompany her. He was worried that seeing or speaking to Geralt again would set him back, would shatter him apart again – and that this time nothing would prevent the consequences of having his so recently healed heart destroyed once more. Yennefer’s steady presence and wildfire love had helped ground him, he told her, but he was still breakable. He still held feelings for Geralt, and another rejection could kill him.

And so Yennefer went to find Geralt on her own, leaving Jaskier composing again in their rooms. As she closed the door behind her, she heard the start of lyrics.

_“This shattered heart and broken soul_

_Once torn apart, again made whole…”_

All her carefully-worded speeches were for nothing once she set eyes upon the white-haired Witcher. An incandescent fury filled her, setting her Chaos crackling in the air about her as she stalked across the remaining distance between herself and the weary, too-thin Witcher. He jolted and turned towards her as she approached, surprise writ into his features as his mouth began to form her name.

She didn’t give him the opportunity to speak, instead throwing her Chaos-strengthened fist into his jaw.

Apparently she did have it in her to be angry at him after all.

He staggered, surprise becoming pure shock as he held his jaw and turned back towards her with wide golden eyes. She glared back at him, furious, ignoring the whisperings of the few people around to see the confrontation. The Viscount’s servants were swiftly ushering others away, though, and for that Yennefer intended to thank the man later. She did so appreciate discretion.

“You,” she hissed, “are the biggest idiot I have ever had the misfortune to meet!”

“Yen—” Geralt began, but Yennefer held up a finger warningly. He stopped speaking and shut his mouth.

“Do you ever think of the consequences before you speak or do you just let the words fall from your lips without your input and hope for the best?” she demanded. Geralt appeared confused, and Yennefer resisted the urge to punch the look off his face. “Do you not learn from your mistakes?”

Geralt _flinched_ , visibly and violently, and grim satisfaction settled into Yennefer’s chest. _Good_. Let him experience even a fraction of the suffering his careless words had inflicted upon her and Jaskier.

A cruel thought occurred to her, and she spared only a moment’s consideration towards the option of _not_ saying it. Only a moment, and then she was letting the words pass her lips.

“Your cruelty destroyed one of the best things in your life, Geralt, and I hope it was worth it.” Her words were sharp, her tone bitter, as she thought of how Jaskier trembled in her arms when the strain of holding himself together became too much for him to bear on his own. Those times were fewer now, but Geralt’s presence in Lettenhove had increased the intensity of those moments once more.

“What do you—”

“I’m talking about Jaskier, Geralt!” Yennefer snapped, not allowing him to finish his question. Of course she was talking about Jaskier! Who else would she be talking about? It wasn’t like the grouchy Witcher had many human (or mostly human) connections.

Geralt _blanched_ , went almost as white-grey as his hair, and Yennefer paused.

“What?” Geralt croaked, then swallowed. “He should be – he’s supposed to be _safe_ , Yen—”

“Perhaps you should have considered his mental wellbeing instead of just the physical when you _broke him_ ,” she snapped. Geralt’s expression could only be described as ‘devastated’, and Yennefer was viciously satisfied. _Good_! He deserved to feel some of the hurt he had inflicted.

“Where – have you seen him? Where is he?” the quiet desperation in Geralt’s voice soothed some of the anger, but she wasn’t about to give in that easily.

“Do you really think you deserve to know?” she asked instead, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

“Yen, please—” Geralt’s voice cracked slightly, and he paused. Cleared his throat. “I fucked up, Yen, I know I did.”

“Yes, you did,” Yennefer replied bluntly. “I’m not telling you where he is unless he gives me permission. I’m not going to let you destroy him again, Geralt of Rivia.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode off.

Geralt followed, but as Yennefer reached the corner she turned and sent him flying back down the hall with a surge of her Chaos. Then she rounded the corner, opened a portal back to Jaskier’s suite, and left the Witcher behind once more.

***

He pressed gentle, soft kisses along Yennefer’s spine, her skin soft beneath his lips and his hands as he worked his way up from the small of her back to the delicate skin behind her ear, pressing his body to hers and wrapping his arms around her waist. She rested a hand over his, the other coming up to tangle gently in his hair. The room was warm from the fire burning merrily in the hearth, chasing away the midwinter cold.

He looked at their reflections in the mirror they stood in front of, and she smiled – a true, gentle smile, not one of her court smiles or conniving smirks – as she leaned back into him. She was gorgeous, all power and pale skin and vibrant purple eyes, and Jaskier adored her.

“Can you lessen the bond instead of breaking it?” she asked.

“I can, yes.” He kissed her neck, and she tilted her head to bare the pale skin there a little more. “Are you certain?”

“I am,” she confirmed, and Jaskier tightened his arms around her waist. He loved her dearly, and he didn’t wish to be the cause of any pain she would feel. “I promise you, Jaskier, I am certain.” She turned in his arms, and he kissed her when she drew his mouth to hers. “I trust you.” Jaskier kissed her again, harder this time, and she kissed him back just as fiercely.

“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth, and she smiled.

“And I, you,” she whispered back. Jaskier felt something within himself ease, soothed by the reciprocation of his love, and reached for the magic that he had hidden for so long.

Yennefer shuddered, pain radiating from the centre of her chest through the rest of her body, as Jaskier started to sing a soft, lilting, unsettling melody in a language unlike anything she had ever heard before. There was a feeling of tightness in her gut, one she’d not even been aware of until it began to ease with the haunting, painful song falling from Jaskier’s lips.

A whimper broke from her lips as she felt like something tore within her, but Jaskier’s song didn’t pause. His glowing blue eyes were fixed upon hers, and the ancient power he held was being shaped and channelled by his song.

A final note – sustained and ethereal – rang out through the room, and Yennefer’s knees gave way as the pain and tension vanished with the end of the note. Jaskier caught her, power fading, and Yennefer panted – feeling like she’d just attempted spells beyond her abilities – as the last vestiges of pain dissipated.

The bond the djinn had forged was still there – she could feel it, now, a gentle tug in her navel – but it wasn’t as strong as it had been. Before she had felt an intolerable pull to be near Geralt, but now it was just a gentle nudge to do the same. She could ignore it easily, now, and she smiled at that realisation.

She wasn’t quite ready to remove the bond entirely – it had been a constant presence in her life for a decade, after all – but the lessening of the pull was welcome.

“Are you well?” Jaskier asked, and Yennefer laughed and pulled him down into a kiss.

“I am very well,” she promised, and Jaskier grinned back at her. “To bed, lover. And in the morning we will discuss what we’re going to do about the idiot we both, for some reason, still love.”

Jaskier sighed, but he didn’t fall into the melancholy that Yennefer had come to expect. He did seem vaguely upset, yes, but nothing like the sorrow she had encountered when she first arrived in Lettenhove.

He was finally healing _properly_ , and Yennefer was now certain he would not relapse the moment he saw Geralt again. It was time to put the Witcher out of his misery – and perhaps ease the last of Jaskier’s.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to hear the tune for the snippet of song Jaskier was singing when Yennefer arrived, you can find it on my tumblr: [here](https://createpeacefromchaos.tumblr.com/post/627714144339214336/the-part-of-jaskiers-song-yennefer-hears-during)


End file.
